ROMAN'S POV
I'm lying in his bed at 3 AM watching him sleep and I don't know when this happened.
When did I start coming here five nights a week? When did his penthouse become the place I think of when someone says "home"? When did I start keeping a toothbrush here, leaving clothes in his closet, knowing where he keeps the good coffee?
When did I stop being able to sleep without him?
That's the part that's freaking me out. Last week I tried staying at my place. Made it until 1 AM before I texted him.
'You awake?'
He responded immediately. Always does.
'Yes. Come over'
I was there in twenty minutes.
What the fuck is that?
---
The nude scene.
I made him come to set. Texted him at 6 AM: *I need you to see it.*
Need.
I never need anything. I don't do need. Need is weakness.
But I needed him there. Needed to know he was watching. Needed to see his face when I dropped the robe.
Why?
I've been trying to figure that out for two weeks and I still don't have an answer that makes sense.
---
During the second take I looked right at him.
Leny called for more vulnerability. I dropped the robe. Marcus's hands on my shoulders. Cameras rolling. Fifty people watching.
And I stared at Khalid like we were the only two people in the room.
That wasn't acting.
I don't know what it was but it definitely wasn't acting.
His face...
He looked like I'd just destroyed him and saved him simultaneously. Like he was in agony and ecstasy. Like he couldn't decide if he wanted to kill Marcus or thank him.
And I felt ...
Powerful. Yes. But also something else.
Something that feels suspiciously like love.
Fuck.
---
I keep catching myself doing couple shit.
Making coffee the way he likes it (too much cream, one sugar).
Texting him during the day just to tell him something stupid that happened.
Wearing his shirts around the apartment because they smell like him.
Reaching for him in my sleep.
That last one is the worst. I wake up at 4 AM and my hand is searching for him across the bed. Like my body knows he should be there even when my brain hasn't caught up yet.
When did I become this person?
---
Avery cornered me last week.
"You're different."
"I'm the same."
"You're not. You're—I don't know. Softer. You smile more. You talk about him constantly."
"I do not talk about him constantly."
"You mentioned him four times in the last ten minutes."
"That's not—"
"Roman. You're in love with him."
I left. Literally walked out of the restaurant mid-conversation.
Because she's right and I can't handle that she's right.
---
Specific things I've noticed that I shouldn't be noticing:
The way he touches the back of my neck when we're lying in bed. Just rests his hand there. Warm. Steady.
The way he leaves the bathroom light on at night because he knows I don't like complete darkness.
The way he looks at me when I'm talking. Not at my body. At my face. Like what I'm saying actually matters to him.
The way he says my name. "Roman." Not "baby" or "babe" or any of the bullshit other guys use. Just my name. Like it means something.
Why am I noticing these things?
Why do they make my chest feel tight?
---
I told him I loved him.
Didn't plan it. We were in bed. He asked. It just came out.
"I love you."
He went very still. "Say it again."
"I love you."
He kissed me like I'd just given him something he'd been dying for.
And the terrifying part? I meant it.
I actually, genuinely meant it.
---
Here's what I'm realizing:
I thought I was testing him. Thought I was pushing him to see where he'd break. Thought I was in control of this whole situation.
I wasn't.
I'm not.
Somewhere between the gala and the hair cutting and standing naked on a film set looking into his eyes, I fell in love with him.
Not strategically. Not as a power play.
Actually fell in love.
The messy, terrifying, vulnerable kind.
The kind where if he leaves I won't recover.
---
I woke up at 4 AM last night having a panic attack.
Just—couldn't breathe. Heart racing. Mind spinning.
Because I realized: I need him.
Actually need him. Not want. Need.
If he left tomorrow, I would fall apart.
That's the most terrifying thing I've ever acknowledged.
He woke up. Found me sitting on the bathroom floor trying to breathe.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Roman—"
"I'm fine."
He sat down next to me. Didn't push. Just existed there until I could breathe again.
That's when I knew I was completely fucked.
Because someone who makes panic attacks better just by sitting next to you? That's not casual. That's not strategic.
That's love.
---
The wildchild version of me is dying.
The one who flirted with everyone. Who used her sexuality as a weapon. Who never needed anyone.
She's disappearing and I don't know how to stop it.
I tried last week. Went to a party. Flirted with some actor. Let him put his hand on my waist.
Felt nothing.
Worse than nothing. Felt wrong.
Like I was betraying something. Someone.
I left after twenty minutes.
Khalid was at his place when I got there. Looked up from his laptop.
"You're back early."
"Yeah."
"Bad party?"
"Something like that."
He went back to his work. Didn't ask questions. Didn't need to.
And I realized: this is what I want. This quiet domestic shit. This person who knows me well enough to not ask.
When did I become this person who wants domestic shit?
---
Leny pulled me aside yesterday.
"You're glowing."
"I'm not glowing."
"You are. You look happy. Actually happy. I've known you five years and I've never seen you look like this."
"Like what?"
"Like someone in love."
I almost argued. Almost told him he was wrong.
But I couldn't. Because he's not wrong.
I am in love.
I'm completely, terrifyingly, irrevocably in love with Khalid.
And I have no idea what to do with that.
---
Here's what scares me:
That he'll realize I'm not as strong as he thinks I am.
That he'll see through all the wildchild bullshit and find someone who's just scared and broken underneath.
That the real me, the one without the performance, without the strategy won't be enough for him.
That he'll leave.
That I won't survive him leaving.
---
I catch myself staring at him sometimes.
He'll be working. Or reading. Or just existing in the same space as me.
And I'll just watch him.
Memorizing the way his jaw tightens when he's concentrating. The way he runs his hand through his hair when he's frustrated. The way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not paying attention.
Like I'm something precious. Something worth protecting.
Nobody's ever looked at me like that before.
---
He asked me to move in with him last week.
Casual. Like it wasn't a huge deal.
"You're here five nights a week anyway. Why pay rent on a place you never use?"
I said I'd think about it.
I've been thinking about it for six days.
The old me would say no. Would keep the distance. Would maintain an escape route.
But I don't want an escape route anymore.
I want to wake up next to him every morning.
I want his clothes mixed with mine in the closet.
I want to stop pretending I'm not already living here.
I'm going to say yes.
---
I had a dream last night that he left me.
Woke up gasping, reaching for him in the dark. He was there. Pulled me close.
"Bad dream?"
"Yeah."
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
He didn't push. Just held me until I fell back asleep.
But the dream is still there. Sitting in my chest like a stone.
Because that's what happens when you love someone this much. You become terrified of losing them.
And I'm so fucking terrified.
---
Here's what I know:
I'm in love with him. Actually, genuinely, completely in love.
Not the kind where I can walk away. Not the kind I can control.
The kind that's already changed me into someone different. Someone softer. Someone who needs.
I don't know how this happened.
I don't know when I stopped being the girl from the gala who had everything figured out.
But I did stop being her.
And the person I am now? She's his.
Completely his.
And that's the most terrifying and exhilarating thing I've ever felt.
---
It's 4 AM.
He's asleep next to me. His arm is around my waist. His breathing is steady.
I'm lying here watching him and trying not to panic about how much I love him.
About how much power I've given him to destroy me.
About how I'm not sure I care anymore if he does.
Because being with him, even knowing it could destroy me is better than being without him.
That's love.
The messy, terrifying, all-consuming kind.
And I'm in it.
Completely.